Friday, July 31, 2009

Shiny, happy people.

So, a long time ago I traveled to the nation’s most dangerous and dusty frontier town to gamble. There I met a rather bubbly drunk named Puggy Pearson who took me for a large sum. I vowed to return one day to exact my revenge. One evening, I convinced my drunken handler to aid me in my quest.

That fucking asshole died. This is what I had to deal with. His name was Joe. Not exactly Puggy, mind you, but a world more sociable and surrounded by a far more entertaining lot. Regardless, my handler seemed a bit apprehensive about meeting this particular group… Something about him being inferior in both a logical and social manner—very uncharacteristic, if I do say. Having heretofore never heard such inhibitions, I found myself a little bit intimidated and, thus, bided my time in the corner of the booth of the smoking lounge:

I imagine that it was merely because my mind had been worn from the ride, but my nerves eventually settled and, once I saw the menu, my spirits traveled back in time to the Fourth of July. This was as near to independence as a wealthy toad could manage!

After making my selection, I believe the intention of my associates was to mock me by placing me in a rather humorous location. Being where I was, I expected dollar bills to fly around my incapable limbs. Pleasantly, I was merely greeted by the scent of fine tobacco. For once, I must tip my nonexistent cap to those around me, who both respected my stature and aroused what can only be said is one of my most deeply-held interests:

Regretfully, I only enjoy the contact high of nicotine these days. It was not difficult to avoid the temptation though, because, as the lights dimmed, I was treated to a far more alluring temptation:

I will spare you the details, my friends, but let it be said that no expense was made for the pleasure seen above. Out of respect for my companions, I will also refrain from describing any further intimacies—I will let your imagination run with this one.

To pause for a moment, I must declare that I am not some sort of Romerotic Playtoad who seeks out sexually incompatible females for warmth and compassion. I like to imagine myself as the sort of amphibian who arouses both genders of homo sapiens in an equally asexual manner.

I get the party going.

Sometimes this proves to be rather difficult, and a large part of this I like to blame on my appearance:

Can you sense the horror?

I could not. I do not let it get to me. I am the ever-impervious fecal toad; say what you will—-the insults are compliments. You will warm to me, even if I have to convince your significant other to twist your arm. (I am a devious fellow.)

I don’t even need to make a joke. It just works!

Do you need further proof? Fine…

If the mixture of incomprehension, explanation, and mock understanding was not evident before you read this sentence, it, assumedly, now is.

My bombastic presence is further contemplated.

And in the end, everyone understands.

In fact, everyone genuflects to the sheer amount of knowledge that I possess when they realize they will never obtain such a profound level of intellectual contentment. I hate to be bombastic, but sometimes I let it out upon the written page. I am not normally bombastic…

..I am smug!

Smug men enjoy their meals.

I enjoyed mine.

Posted by Pooptoad on 07/31 at 11:17 PM
(17896) CommentsPermalink

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Excuse Me There… May I Lick Your Boot?

My nerves having again been calmed to the point where I could venture out of the air conditioned guestroom, I decided to accompany my associates to a restaurant that afforded what would be a rather dizzying perspective if viewed in time-lapse form. Our cheery congregation proceeded to be moved out of their initial seating location, as it was supposedly closed. Someone cracked that, given the rotation, couldn’t we just wait for a few minutes to be in the open section? And how many times would we end up moving?

Well, the answer was once, as I put my boot down firmly upon the issue. (ha!)

Do not mistake my intentions, as I am not normally one for the fruit-based drinks, but the prospect of owning such an entertaining keepsake drinking accessory proved to be my Achilles Heel here. (ha!)

What can I say? I wanted the night to get off on a good foot. (ha!)

Okay, I will cease my pathetic attempt at humor. I hopped over and found some squares with whom I could hang out:

Returning to the booth, someone mistook me for an octopus. A blowhard such as myself is rarely at a loss for words, but this was one of those rare moments. I truly took it as a compliment. A while and a few drinks later we decided to shoot a dramatic sunset shot. Ladies and gentlemen, Barack Obama!

Okay, so maybe neither of those things were true.

All things considered, it was a cozy little place that afforded us views of the surrounding suburbs. Given that it was our nation’s birthday, I had the foresight to look up the list of local pyrotechnic displays.

There were 39.

Three of us, my handler included, decided to wait it out, while the remainder of the party left to do ‘industrial-strength’ drinking.

We proceeded to get mellow-mellow with some bourbon and, as the night fell, the fireworks began. Everywhere. Unfortunately, the majority of the displays were so distant that it was nearly impossible to get a shot with both them and my hyperluminant self in frame and properly exposed. I think this made the resulting shot only more beautiful:

With nothing left to see, we returned to the hotel room briefly, prior to an hour-long disappearance of my handler and his lone associate for the purposes of karaoke. I sincerely regret having not been brought; should have lobbied a bit harder. That is not to say, however, that I did not get to flex my musical muscles. Upon their return, I was brought to the hotel lobby and we approached the event’s dance party. It was there that, figuratively, my jaw dropped. I was insistent that I let my voice be heard:

Fancy a piano duet?

Seeing the interminable line to the dance party, we regrouped yet again in our quarters.

It was at this point that my handler left for roughly 30 minutes, having spotted a crowd 29 floors below him. He returned, slurring something about having 70 people chanting “chug” while he guzzled 5 shots of distilled blue agave hooka-side during an impromptu last call ceremony. Things immediately degenerated at this point. At some point I was informed that I was in the presence of a genuine celebrity. Someone from something called ‘Spider Person’ or thereabouts.

I warned you that those Filipinos would appear again. No worries, they were pretty cool…

For Filipinos.

Posted by Pooptoad on 07/23 at 11:40 PM
(6778) CommentsPermalink

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Back to Life, Back to Reality

At a certain point, things can get too strange. This is rarely a cause for the loss of one’s attention. Unfortunately, sometimes, things can entirely lose their point, at which point I being to look for the nearest distraction. In this case, it was a group of costumed individuals racing each other to be the first to consume their respective popsicles. They were surrounded, easily, by over one hundred people. Most of them with cameras.

That is not to say that I wasn’t intrigued for a while. I actually stayed to watch the entirety of the absurd spectacle. Once the competition had reached its end—the gentleman just right of the top center with the blue hair won—I was both incensed at the lack of bravado on behalf of the winner and equally angered at my own patience for maintaining the assumption that the result of the contest would be something that could be objectively considered to be genuinely entertaining. It was not. At this point I suppose I merely needed to put things into perspective.

Bingo! Again! Not to hot. Not too dry. Palm trees. Not a cloud in the sky. As can easily be seen, my sunny disposition reflected the vibrancy of my surroundings, not to mention the radiant sunlight. I must declare that I’m looking rather fit here; I seem to have finally blended into my environs—only the spots of a chameleon could aid me further! Sadly, being an avid follower of the daily news programs, my heart sank as soon as I reached a sight that I knew would deeply affect me once I inevitably approached it:

Where can one begin with the so-called “King of Pop?“ As I watched fan after fan pass by, some of them signing their names upon the ghastly-arranged board of bills, the density of the scene and the gravity of my sorrows pulled me down into an abyss.

I was overwhelmed. Pop songs that had been playing in my head endlessly for the previous week ceased. I could not put words upon why this had such a profound effect upon me. Perhaps it was because I had anticipated a man’s heavily promoted return to form. Perhaps it was because fate had dictated that my first sojourn towards the ‘left coast’ would be greeted by the loss of one of the area’s most impactful residents. Maybe I just really, really, really liked anything he and his songwriters managed to defecate, even on their off days, from “Leave Me Alone” to “Man in the Mirror,“ merely because they were better than most everything else out at the time. But clearly, It mattered not where I went in this strange city—I would only find myself still overwhelmed. I fled back to my hotel room. On the way there, my panic was heightened even further!

My handler, up until this point, had brought me much closer to the American pastime of “bases ball” and, in my spare time, I was taking a great liking to the game. I knew of this man—he, being aggrandized in this hyperactive city for cheating of all things. This image revolted me. If anger is a stage of grief, I accelerated to such a place very quickly and, rather opportunely, found myself in a location that could serve greatly to alleviate such emotions:

Back to baseline I went.

My inhibitions diminished, I decided to piss off a couple of bears:

Yes, it was probably a bad idea.

Posted by Pooptoad on 07/22 at 08:13 PM
(1627) CommentsPermalink

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

People and Bright Colors

After a brief panel during which I attempted to bolster my knowledge of the Japanese-to-American media localization industry by determinedly conferring a rather immense scrawl of notes to my mental folio, I proceeded to an exhibition hall of what was shaping up as a relatively psychedelic event that fans of my Bufo brethren would greatly appreciate. I still insist that my pupils were dilating as I progressed deeper into the mass of hybridized humanity. I even managed to begin to weasel my way into the photographic opportunities of others, at least one of whom had decided to pose with a friendly robot:

Shortly after this photograph was taken, the automaton’s chromed head began to rotate and the young woman was thrown to the floor.

Into the exhibition hall strode yours truly and, if I was not already overwhelmed by the distracting sights before me, such a statement could no longer definitively be made at this point. That is not to say that sight was the only saturated sense I possessed at that point; nay, I was almost immediately accosted by some friendly men with a rainbow flag who seemed simultaneously repulsed and aroused by my presence:

Sensing something awry, I left without actually managing to ever figure out exactly what “yaoi” meant. I needed to find some women. In absurd costumes. With diverse facial expressions.

As I have heard uttered multiple times during animation from their culture, bingo!

The only unfortunate thing about this sort of setting is that the average duration of an encounter is about 30 seconds… or 45 if you forget to take off the lens cap. I personally regret not having informed my handler to bring his telephoto lens so as to zoom unsuspectingly upon the bosoms of several of those in attendance. Then again, given my appearance, it is unlikely I could even get as close to such a lot as I did to these scantily-attired dolls:

Note the inverse relationship of price to the amount of clothing on the dolls. These chaps surely know their market well. Then again, there clientele is likely the sort who marries the type of wife who forces them to artificially inseminate them like a studded racehorse for fear of what sort of fantasies might be imposed upon them.

Curiously enough, the exhibitionist aspect of the exhibition hall continued to prove to be rather true, albeit with one exception—the only ones afraid of having their wares photographed were the purveyors of fine works of sword craft. Clearly this was nothing if not an example of the subconscious male phallic compensation, but I cannot wax too editorial about either of these two strange examples, for I shortly found myself lying upon the cozy lap of a noted figure in the gaming industry:

Pot? Kettle, touché. My inhibitions shed and cheeks still more brown than red, I decided to edge closer to my silly hat quota for the trip:

Immediately, I was informed that, too, I would be exhibited at this fine event. Little did I realize that a price was soon to be placed upon my flesh:

At this point, I’d pretty much reached my limits. I am not merely some piece of art or worse, meat, to be sold at well below market cost. My ire about to brim over, I was saved at the most opportune of times by a jolly fellow in a rather spirited costume:

You people seem to know my weak points all to well.

Lord, this dancing thing can be tiring.

Posted by Pooptoad on 07/21 at 09:08 PM
(16356) CommentsPermalink

Friday, July 17, 2009

Hangover 1

Forgetting the first few hours of the morning and, luckily, sleeping through the rest, I was awakened to the presence of associates to which my handler had failed to find the sobriety to indroduce me.

First and foremost amongst these was Mr. Already. Our first meeting was documented in the previous entry, but we shared many a great moment together. Despite his size, he did not eat me, although I must admit that I tempted both him and others:

I proceeded to whore myself to the backs of further patrons of Cap’n Lee:

Having engorged ourselves upon our respective phalli, we headed off for the center of entertainment.

After paying entrance fee, I was merely sucked in futher. Kawaii!

Dare I follow the path?

It was roughly at this point that I began to lose focus entirely upon my increasingly overwhelming environs. There is only so much my tiny amphibian mind can take, after all.

Posted by Pooptoad on 07/17 at 12:09 AM
(97202) CommentsPermalink

Thursday, July 16, 2009



Above I can be seen preparing for a day out in what I would soon discover to be a rather disorienting metropolis. Let it be known that I am pictured above in an alarmingly warm location, so the steam is assuredly warranted under these circumstances.. Considering that Captain Lee had generously accomodated both myself and my friends in his establishment, I had neither the right nor the desire to complain. The fun was about to begin. Begin it did.

Captain Lee had been generous to grant us temorary residency upon one of the highest floors of his accomodations and I was not going to let the opportunity pass me by. Our neighbors were an alarmingly anti-ethnocentric bunch of Asian Islanders who claimed all sorts of discord with their compatriots. Absurdly enough, we got along rather agreeably!

I pause here merely to accentuate the profound consistency of facial enthusiasm of my finger-pointing compatriot, shown much more demonstrably below:

Oh, bollocks! I proceeded to cavort with these rather anti-ethnocentric Asians, and the remainder of the night morphed into a haze detectably thicker than the merely smoggy downtown air.

Having, in hindsight, forgotten the previous few hours as well as the rest of the night, I presumedly hopped back into my case and steeled my reserve for the day to come.

Needless to say, fortunately or unfortunately, you will see these folks again.

Posted by Pooptoad on 07/16 at 11:32 PM
(692) CommentsPermalink

Monday, July 13, 2009

Oh, it’s on.

I must apologize to those with bated breath, but I have had what may be described by some of you modern folk as an epic journey. For now I must spare you the details but, rest assured, they will soon come to light.

For now, I leave you with the most mild understatement ever written upon a satchel that I have had the pleasure of carrying upon one of your aeronautically engineered marvels:

Posted by Pooptoad on 07/13 at 10:27 PM
(2290) CommentsPermalink
Page 1 of 1 pages